


Secret Santa

by notjustmom



Series: Sherlock Christmas Ficlets 2017 [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, mostly - Freeform, nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:29:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Prompt 20: Stocking Stuffers/icicles





	1. Chapter 1

"Uhhhmmm.." Sherlock cleared his throat as he paced out in front of 221B, shivering as the temperature dropped with the setting sun. "I'm - uhm - Sherlock - you may not - hmmm... this is stupid. No. You're doing this for John. Not stupid. Okay." He looked at the paper Mycroft had slipped to him a few hours earlier that day and took a deep breath as he pressed the unfamiliar numbers and waited.

"Harry Watson."

"Hi, uhm, hullo, I'm -"

"Sherlock."

"How'd you know?"

"Never miss a press conference, you two should get married."

"We did."

"Oh."

"Sent you an invite. Guess you didn't get it."

"Yeah - I might have - hmm. Sooo..."

"Hmm?"

"You called me, if I recall correctly, my memory is sometimes a bit suspect, but -?"

"Right. Is there anything John ever wanted for Christmas that he didn't get from Santa?"

Harry laughed for a long moment, and Sherlock heard the phone hit the floor. "Harry?"

"Sorry. Hmm, besides a different Mum and Dad and life?"

Sherlock was silent.

"No. Seriously. He, uhm, he always wanted to learn how to play the drums. He even signed up to play them in school - but dad - the man who donated his sperm, then - never mind, you don't need to know - he wouldn't give his permission - John could've forged his signature, and done it anyway, but he was always an honest person, even then. Except for - yeah, drums - and a Princess Leia action figure - always loved her - but -"

"Will you come visit on Christmas morning, just for tea?" Sherlock blurted out, then clamped his hand over his mouth and looked up to count the icicles that had formed on the wires above him and tried to breathe.

"I don't know, Sherlock -" Harry whispered, and he heard her take a sip of something.

"Tea. It's tea. I don't drink anymore, been sober for five years."

"Then?"

"I don't think - I remind him of - I've wanted to call him, but I -"

"WIll you at least call him on Christmas morning? Please?"

Harry sighed, and Sherlock wondered if he'd gone too far. 

"I'll try. Can't promise, Sherlock. Thanks, for - everything - I know - I never miss an update - except I must've missed the part where you two got hitched."

"He didn't - we both thought it better to keep it as private as one can these days - I get enough death threats as it is, and I didn't want him - after everything -"

"Right. Well, ta - Happy Holidays to you both if I can't -"

"Yeah, you too, Harry." Sherlock ended the call and looked up at the sky, and hoped he had done the right thing. He took a deep breath and hoped he could school his features enough so John couldn't read him, luckily he was in the midst of writing his latest blog post, and he was out here because he had promised to get take-away on his way home from, what was it - oh, right, getting milk - and for a moment, he wondered why John believed that excuse - he had never - ah well, there's a first for everything, he thought as he shoved his hands into his pockets and began the short walk to Tesco.

 

John sat at his desk, trying to figure out what to get Sherlock for Christmas, he could just ask him, but that would - aw hell.

 

"Mycroft."

"John?"

"Uhm. Yeah. Just wondering, was there something Sherlock wanted -"

"From 'Father Christmas'?" John could hear the air quotes floating in the air and the smirk on Mycroft's face that went all the way to his eyes. 

"Never mind, bad idea - I'll just -"

"No. Apologies, John. I'm still adjusting to this -"

"To what?" John forced out.

"You. Him - I don't know, he's, you've made him human, and I -"

"He's always been human."

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, technically. I just mean, he remembers birthdays now; he came by my office today and started talking about astronomy - seems he is taking a class? He was excited about some new planet, or system, or something or other - he brought me coffee and a roll. It's off-putting to say the least, and now -" He cleared his throat and hmmed for a moment. "Christmas. Not something we really did, after our grandparents died, but... a train set. There was this one display once, one year when we were in London for a treat, and I had to drag him away from the window. He actually wrote a "Santa" letter that night when we got home. All he wanted was a train set."

"Train set? Really?" John smiled and looked around the flat trying to figure out how he could do it. He had worked extra shifts the last couple of weeks and could easily swing a good set. "Great. Thank you." After a pause of dead air, he mumbled, "I know you don't 'do' Christmas, but if you would like to come for elevenses on Christmas morning - you are more than welcome, Mrs. Hudson always wishes she had more company she could feed - you know how she is -"

"Quite. I -" Mycroft made a pretense of looking at a schedule he knew was empty, then glared at Anthea who had been listening, and knew him all too well. "I will see what my schedule allows, John. I do appreciate the invitation. If that is all - I do have -"

"Of course, don't let me keep you -"

"Thank you, John. Truly."

John ended the call and suddenly wondered how Harry was. His fingers hovered over her name, but he sighed and turned off his phone, and hoped Sherlock wouldn't be annoyed with a visit from Big Brother. "Train...where can I get a train so close to Christmas?" He dashed off a note, dropped it into Sherlock's chair, grabbed his coat and flew down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock returned home with three pints of milk, four new teas to try, two loaves of bread, and an overflowing bag of take-away. He pushed the door open with his back, wondering why John hadn't called the Met after him, then realized the flat was - no John. He managed to put everything away, then walked over to his chair, and released the breath he had been holding, as he found John's note.

S - Had to dash out for an errand, back soon, love. - J

He collapsed into his chair, closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep.

 

John sighed heavily as he made his way up the stairs. The only train store in town was closed til the new year, and Amazon was hopeless - he wanted to touch it and see it move before he bought it, and he realised he wasn't just buying it for Sherlock, but it was for himself too, for the boy who never really had a Christmas. He sat down hard on the top step and ran his fingers through his hair and tried to think what to do next, then it struck him how much he needed to be near Sherlock. He got to his feet and opened the door to the flat, breathing in the scents of the take-away that Sherlock had brought home, slipped off his shoes and made his way over to Sherlock's dozing form.

"Love?" He knelt in front of him and placed his hands on Sherlock's knees.

"Hmmm?"

"Come on, are you hungry at all, or should we -"

"John -" He reached out and touched John's face, and John understood, not for first time, in recent years, that he didn't really need anything for Christmas, as long as the man who touched him still breathed. "Hmmm - we should eat a bit, I think I went a bit overboard, it should still be warm." He opened his eyes and kissed John's forehead. "When I came home, and you weren't here - for a moment - I -"

"Sorry. I -"

"No, it's fine - I just - I've become accustomed - to you - is all."

 

Christmas morning arrived with a surprise dusting of snow, not enough to snarl traffic, just enough to make everything sparkle a bit. John switched on the kettle then walked into the lounge to look at their tree. He didn't quite understand why it meant so much that they had a real one this year, but Sherlock had insisted, and it had taken them days to find the perfect one, and he had to agree it was - he blinked and wondered at the set of drumsticks that were sitting in his chair. "What the -" Attached he found a note.

 

"Rest is coming at elevenses." Santa

 

"Santa?" Then he looked at Sherlock's chair and saw the most beautiful engine. Obviously old, yet - he dropped into his chair clutching the sticks tightly in his hand and tried to work through what could have happened last night, when the kettle whistled. He got up slowly and made a pot of tea, poured himself a cup, and opened the fridge to find three new pints of milk. All he could do was laugh to himself and drink his tea.

"Morning -" Sherlock wandered in an hour later, kissed John's hair and narrowed his eyes at his chair. "What is that?"

"Dunno."

Then he looked at the sticks in John's hand and forgot to blink. He leaned into John's chair so he didn't fall over. "It's the same train," he whispered. John turned and gazed up at him. 

"What is - you mean that's - the - one in the window?"

Sherlock didn't even question how John knew, he just nodded and walked over to his chair and with a trembling hand picked up the train. "It's exactly the same, John." He sat down hard and glanced at the tag that dangled from it. 

 

"All will be explained at tea." Santa

 

"Poppycock." Sherlock snorted. "More tea?"

"Please?"

"Whoo - hoooo!" Mrs Hudson put her head around the door and made sure they were decent. "Happy Christmas, boys - Oh, I see you found your gifts."

"Do you know -"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "They were waiting by my door, with a note to be brought up here, when I got home from Mrs. Turner's last night. I didn't think - is everything okay, boys?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Sherlock managed to get to his feet and walked over to her, kissing her forehead and gave her a smile. "I think we'll be having a bit of extra company at elevenses."

"Oh, good, you know I - tend to overdo things a bit - your mince pies, the gingerbread in case that brother of yours shows up, and I made a nice sponge this year, and of course scones - you never know - oh - I forgot - I'll be up to set up in a couple of hours, boys, why don't you get cleaned up a bit - you look a bit at sea, the both of you." She kissed Sherlock's cheek, then rubbed her lipstick away and dashed back down the stairs, muttering to herself. 

Sherlock turned towards John and offered him his hand. John laid the drumsticks down and got to his feet, took Sherlock's hand, and followed him back to bed. 

 

Harry held her breath as she pressed the buzzer to 221B. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and put a hand to her mouth. "You're -"

"Harry Watson, Mrs. Hudson, I feel like I already know you from the blog."

"Oh, my dear, he will be so - pleased."

"I'm not so sure about that, and I do apologise for his gift - as far as your ears are concerned."

"Not to worry dear, I soundproofed both of their rooms years ago -" Harry snorted, but managed to say nothing as she followed Mrs. Hudson and the men from the music store up the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson passed by their bedroom, door closed. "Went back to bed - you two certainly surprised them this morning."

"Two?" Harry whispered.

"So, you don't know about the train? Hmmm."

"Train?"

"Well, it will be an interesting morning." Mrs. Hudson muttered to herself as she led everyone up to John's old room and opened the door, then heard the buzzer. "Damn. Well, make yourself at home, I'll be bringing up tea in a bit, if you'd like to help -"

"Of course - thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"No, dear, thank you." She smiled at her, then dashed down the steps to open the door once more.

"Mycroft?" She peered around a figure holding a tower of boxes.

"Somewhere under here, yes, Mrs. Hudson."

"Well, you best come up, then, quietly, the boys are still sleeping last time I checked. Going to be a noisy day -"

"What do you mean?"

"Harry is here -"

"Harry Watson?"

"Hmm - got her brother a drumset."

"Oh dear lord -" Mycroft mumbled.

"Yes... but it's Christmas."

"So it is, Mrs. Hudson, so it is."

"Do you have any idea how to set one of those up?"

"Not a clue, but between Sherlock, John, and Greg -"

"Ah hullo, Detective Inspector - didn't see you there -"

"Mrs. H - had this set meself - my mum may still have it in her attic somewhere - it's been a few years now, but I think I can still make it go."

"Alright, step up, boys, up we go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, one more bit... hopefully later today. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and the conclusion...

John opened his eyes, and blinked for a moment, then turned to look at his phone. 11:30. "Damn." Then he listened carefully. Greg - no, Mycroft was swearing? Greg was laughing and - no, it couldn't be, yes, there it was, the low distinctive rumble of his sister's chuckle. What the "hell?" He threw off the covers, hurriedly threw on his ridiculously festive sweater that he was required to wear - it was tradition - and his softest cords and quietly made his way out into the lounge to see his sister about to eat what he assumed was not the first of the mince pies.

"John - uhm. Surprise?"

He had never experienced that kind of silence where an entire room seems to hold its collective breath, but he could have sworn he could hear a pin drop somewhere.

"You're the drumsticks - I mean, 'Santa' - when - why - wha -?"

"I phoned her."

John waited until he could feel Sherlock's heat behind him, then he spun and faced him. "You phoned her."

"I wanted to get you something - special, this year - and there was no one else I knew to call. I - " Sherlock pulled his hand out of his pocket and presented him with a hastily wrapped package. "I am not very good at this kind of thing - I didn't think it would get here in time, but it -"

John held his breath as he undid the paper and let it fall to the floor to reveal an original Princess Leia action figure, still in its box. He swiveled again to meet his sister's uncertain eyes. "You remembered. And the drums. You - you didn't -"

"Upstairs in your old room. I couldn't believe you two slept through the ruckus, I was just glad we had a DI here, just in case someone thought -" John kissed her forehead then gently placed his empty hand on her face. "Thank you - I mean - not for - for the presents too, but - I know - how hard it must've been -"

"GO!"

"Thanks!" And John shot up the stairs faster than Sherlock had ever seen him move.

Sherlock shook his head and smiled at Harry, then opened his arms for her to walk into. "Thank you, Harry. Didja leave me any mince pies?"

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Now, Sherlock Holmes, do you think I only made a dozen? There is another batch just cooling downstairs. Nope. Stop. Look around you."

Sherlock stopped and looked around him for the first time objectively. Boxes and tracks were scattered all over the floor. Their desk had been moved to make room for - "Myc?"

Mycroft slowly got up from his comfortable spot in Greg's arms and dusted off his trousers. "I - knew how much you loved that train - once we got home, I called the owner of the shop, and I asked if there was a way to put a hold on the display set."

"You were -"

"Twelve."

"How long did it take you?"

"I paid him a couple of pounds a week until I had a job that paid a bit more -"

"Your treat money?" Sherlock's voice had fallen to a whisper.

Mycroft nodded.

"You paid it off -"

"The first time you -" Mycroft bit his lip and turned towards the window.

"Oh, Myc." Sherlock dropped to the floor and looked at the piles of tracks - and packages of tiny people, houses and one little irish setter that Sherlock carefully picked up between his fingers and examined it closely. "Looks just like -"

"Redbeard." Mycroft turned from the window with a wistful look on his face. "That's how I knew it belonged to you. I've been waiting for the right time to give it to you. And when John called - and to my surprise, to his own, I believe as well, and invited me over to celebrate Christmas morning with you - I thought it was time."

Sherlock studied his brother's face for a moment then rolled his eyes as he heard the first crash of the drum set above their heads. "Oh, Lord - what have I done?"

"Made him very happy, Sherlock," Harry whispered as she knelt down next to him. "Now, shall we show these two idiots how to put this thing together so we can get it running before midnight?"

Sherlock laughed as he put Redbeard down and grabbed the instructions from Greg's hands. "Let's show 'em how it's done, Harry."

 

"You know -"

"Hmm?" Sherlock murmured as he curled around John after everyone had finally left long after midnight after the train had finally made its maiden journey.

"I - had the best day, today, I did. But, it -"

"What?" Sherlock sat up and met John's shining eyes.

"If all I had was a quiet evening with you, by the fire, that would have been perfect, too."

"Next year?" Sherlock smiled at him.

John nodded. "Next year. I - thank you."

"No, John, thank you," Sherlock whispered as he bent down over him and kissed him sweetly. "Thank you, John."


End file.
